


Love it if we Made it

by thedappertrickster



Category: Fallout 4, Fallout 76
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-29 12:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17807789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedappertrickster/pseuds/thedappertrickster
Summary: The sole survivor has always been a mystery to John Hancock. She enjoyed picking up the rag-tag long forgotten souls of the wasteland. There was only surviving on his mind and yet he found more, he'd love to believe she found more as well.It's a pity that a leave of absence cannot be applied to life.





	1. Intro

She’d never mentioned kids; he could deal with weird shit, but it bugged him. Her kid was older then her, more aged. What kind of dad could he hope to be? He didn’t even know she’d had kids, had a family. This was all news. She kept her heart tight in her sleeve, right next to her rifle. He admired that, how carefree she could be given the right dose. And yet here they were, sitting over a shared drink with him wanting to ask about her life before the Great War.  
She’d been disappearing for weeks now, escaping to the institute where only she was permitted to trespass. He’d never questioned it until now. But it was her son….he created and ran the whole operation. She’d been plotting with the railroad, made it clear that she felt the synths should be freed with their sentient nature, and yet she found herself conspiring against her son to free the synths that the Railroad so intended to help.  
\----  
She was so dear to him. But she batted those lashes as it suited her. Being a sole survivor implied certain personality traits that enabled her own existence. He could come to terms with that. But to see her flirting….It pained him more than he liked to admit. He was insecure. He didn’t believe that he deserved someone like her, and yet there they were. She’d do whatever she needed to survive. That was anyone’s role in the current state. She seemed morally sound, wanted the best for the citizens of the common wealth. But watching her flirt with a member of the brotherhood to get the proper Intel….He wanted to massacre the guy. It nearly drove him mad when the guy laid his hand on her hip.  
She touched his wrist, gave him a few rounds of ammo, kissed his lips.  
“Hancock I love you.”  
The way she said it drove him higher than any dose of mentats ever could.  
But still he knew, she’d do anything for the greater good. She’d kill herself if it meant ten people would live, and that scared him. He couldn’t bear laying to rest a pretty face like that.


	2. Sincerity is Scary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based upon the 1975 song of the same name.  
> A deeper intrusion into the Sole Survivor and Hancock.  
> Short, sweet.

She knew how to have fun; she’d mix the best cocktail of jet and mentats, chased it all with vodka and old bourbon until they were talking for hours until the sun broke past the horizon. She’d speak theory and the meaning of life with him until the high wore off, and he loved her for it. Mentats were always his favorite, encouraged intellectual conversation that he’d never have been privy to otherwise. In those moments he truly felt he knew her; she smiled brighter, her eyes were a bit more alight with joy when she’d been drinking or felt a particularly strong high and he loved her more for it. Her mind was beautiful, a bright hum in the dark of all he’d ever known. She was so intelligent, just hearing her speak passionately gave him a buzz.  
They’d argue, argue about the past, about what the future of the wasteland would look like. She always seemed so distant from his reality, but in those moments she was close. Close enough to shine light into the darkest parts of his identity, make him talk about all of his past, about his brother and about how hurt he was, all the time. How lonely he felt.  
Sometimes, she would take his hand, press his scarred palm over her heartbeat, just beside the swell of her modest bust. She met his eyes then, soft and loving in those rare moments she allowed herself to be vulnerable to him. He ate them up; She was so used to being tough, putting up walls. It took a lot for her to tear them down.  
He was the only one who got a peek above them. 

“You’re looking a little tense, here’s something to take the edge off.”  
She never refused him, usually would choke back the pills immediately. Even then, high on mentats and jets and only lord knows what booze, she still seemed tense and unstable. She was always focused, able to aim perfectly to take down the enemy miles off.  
She never would say much’ would take another hit readily and mumble about how much more free she was. Sometimes she’d mention her husband, how much she hated him. But she was good to keep things professional, even after he’d started fucking her silly and falling in love with her .  
If anything, their mutual affection made her stronger, gave her more resolve.  
He nearly pissed himself, learning that was her son he met on the roof of the C.I.T. building that rainy fall afternoon. He was sure she’d told him about wanting to find her son, but he hadn’t expected that. She was smart though, so it made sense her kidnapped child would be the leader of the worst and most fearsome technological institution within the commonwealth. Yet in those moments, even with his hazy levels of sobriety, he knew her. He knew she loved him, cared for his true identity more than anyone else ever had. She’d kill for him without him even needing to ask .


	3. Pretty Mama

Even when his sobriety was hazy he always knew where to find her, knew who she was. ‘Of the people, for the people’. She’d been that way in Goodneighbor. Even taking him on as a companion she’d bed preferential to the best of all. He knew it, though, when he saw her emerge covered in dirt and bleeding from the tunnels, that he loved her. She was the only one for him.  
He was high as a kite, drinking down in the bar when she’d approached him.  
“What’s the jazz singer’s name?”  
“You mean Mags? She’s great-“  
“Must be short for Magnolia?” His survivor winked at him and took Mags to the backroom.  
He only learned later that she’d persuaded Magnolia for information regarding a missing persons case. But he knew then that she’d do anything to make sure what was done was right. He hated it, was only pacified when Magnolia admitted that the Survivor wouldn’t even kiss her to get the info.  
“Too persuasive with her words”- She admitted.  
He joined the Survivor’s crusade the next day, took a leave of absence from Goodneighbor and gave himself to the cause. 

“You’re looking a little tense”  
She would never say much, take another hit from him and mumble about her ex-husband.  
“You make me feel alive-“  
“You sure?” he’d ask sarcastically. “You look more ghoulish today, maybe should visit a doctor.”  
She grabbed his wrist once, looked him in the eye.  
“Hancock….He never looked at me that way. The way you do, focused and sure. And it means more to me than I’ll ever say again.” She stated blatantly before she pressed her lips to his.  
She did it often, kissed him and left him struggling for air. Her love was the only noose he ever wanted.


	4. Mine

They were standing on the balcony of the old CIT building; She’d persuaded her son to help her free the Synths. So many lives were spared, and yet Desdemona was requesting her to blow the entire Institute operation.   
Shaun had already told his mother goodbye…expressed how happy he was that his mother still believed in the people of the common wealth. He was proud to have come from her, to have finally found her.   
She didn’t mention to him about how horrid her husband was, that she never wanted to be a mother. Her only company had been the Mr. Handy that she’d begged for, pleaded for. She got beat the night she asked if she could go back to work. She wasn’t the type that was cut out for marriage and children but she’d done it hoping her son might have some semblance of a stable family.   
Life is so fucked up like that. Hancock knew that well.   
Hancock knew she didn’t think of Shaun as her son; he wasn’t borne of love, wasn’t raised by her hands. He was just another face trying to pull her in a direction, trying to persuade her. But she looked distraught. As if blowing up CIT would be ending her past, ending whatever dreams she still tied to that life she might have led. Her son was going to die, but so were his dreams, his aspirations. She was destroying something of another person. She wasn’t good at that sort of indiscretion.   
Hancock would never forget him- he was laid in that coffin of a bed, radiation seeping from him as he took his mother’s hand .  
“I forgive you.”   
“Shaun I love you.” She remarked, “I’m sorry. I never got to raise you, but you are more like me than him-“   
“Mother, I heard the recordings from Codsworth…”   
“Ah, bowling night-“   
“Did you love him?” Shaun asked, the feeble old man riddled with radiation….his hands shook as Shaun took his mother’s wrist.   
“I loved you. Everything I’ve done was for you. You saved me, you are why I’m even here. “  
“But not him?”   
“No. Shaun now isn’t the time-“   
“I need to know, mother, please.”   
“We don’t have enough time-“ It was a desperate plea. Her brow furrowed. She said it bluntly, kissed her son’s forehead. She took aim with her pistol, shot true on the first try.   
“I’m sorry, Shaun. I love you.”


	5. It's not living if it's not with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sole survivor runs into far too many complications. Hancock attempts to cope.

“Mother, Mother?” The synth tugged at the sole survivor’s bloodstained sleeve.  
Was this what he looked like? Hancock wasn’t even sure how old the synth was meant to mimic. He wondered if this synth even called her “mom” when she first arrived at the institute.  
She was inexpressive, she hadn’t even cried after shooting her own son. She definitely was a survivor, he knew for sure.  
“Can I come with you? Mother, I’m scared.”  
She hesitated a moment. She had just killed her son, and yet here was a synth by the same name….full of youth-  
“Yes, Shaun, please come with us. Stay close to Hancock, he will keep you safe.” She remarked, pressing her palm to the synth’s shoulder before moving him closer to Hancock.  
“Hey….kid.” Hancock tilted his hat at the synth, but that was about all he could offer. 

\-----

He realized in that moment, the weight of his Soul Survivors choices. To forego everything, her own son, for the sake of the common wealth…for the sake of people like him… for the future. She plotted with the railroad to murder her own son, burn down her son’s operation and reams. But she never once mentioned that the Institute’s leader was her son. She kept that to herself, yet another duty she took on. He’d been with her long enough to watch her; she’d help anyone she could. She was always worried about doing what was right for the most people. She sacrificed herself, her own goals. Ever since she was awoken (by her own son, come to find out) she wanted to find him, create a life for her and her infant son. And she was robbed of that. Then she was robbed, yet again, of her son. The cancer would have taken him, he was an old man. But the wound did not hurt less for it. No one else knew of her life, of her story. But HE knew. HE realized what she’d went through.  
He took great care in paying attention, piecing together the bits of her life, what she would divulge in her sleep and in her moments of inebriation.  
When he reached for her shoulder she shrugged him away. It hurt him, but she was hurting too.  
“Shaun loves you.” She remarked, offhandedly. “He said it all the time. After that day. That he could see the way you looked at me. He wasn’t supportive by any means, but he could tell you were genuine.”  
_He sees her at her son’s bedside, their hands are intertwined. They are both crying._  
_“Mother, why?”_  
_“The people of the commonwealth have the right to decide for themselves…”_  
Her son clenches tighter to her forearm. She presses a kiss to his wrinkled brow-line. No mother should have to give last rights to her child, yet there his Sole Survivor is, kissing her own flesh and blood goodbye, persuading him to help as much as possible to prevent more death.  
She types the code into the terminal .  
_“Shaun….” She’s crying, her makeup runs like rivers down her cheekbones._  
_“You’re right. You always have been. Save as many as you can….”_  
_“I can’t leave you, Shaun.” She holds him tight to her as she raises the gun to his temple._


	6. Only the Lonely Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heart gets slow and everyone heals. Hancock relives his premonitions prior to becoming a sentient ghoul.  
> His sole survivor has always been his guide.

He wanted to ask her, but thought better of it. She’d murdered the brotherhood single handed, destroyed their entire operation, and murdered her son. It had only been a matter of days and it seemed like the world she was trying to guarantee a future was burning before her.  
He wanted to get her high, help her forget, but she hadn’t even looked him in the eyes for hours.  
How on earth could she?  
Hancock watched the melted synth that was a mockery of her son beg for its life. Fuck artificial intelligence and all the worry that came with it. He knew where his Soul Survivors heart rested and it was with the future.  
There were moments when being around her reminded him of one of the first dwellers. He’d seen a lot of humans…a lot of beings…leave this world. He hadn’t killed a soul since his Survivor entered his world. She took care of all the dirty work. He helped where he could and love d her resolve.  
She had always seemed so familiar. He knew in his radiated bones he’d dreamt the same girl.  
\-----  
The first survivor he saw was scarred, tattoos across her face, a reject. She was holed up in vault 76 and had bailed at the first noise of re-entry into the scorched world. The year was 2076, it was during the height of the great war and no one knew anything that was going on. The plants looked different and he didn’t even recognize the land or the songs playing on he radio of her pip-boy that was the same exact model his survivor had. She dropped offerings of cooked radstag, pistol aimed at his head. He hadn’t even quite realized what was going on, but he was a laid back gent and had only that to fall back on-  
“Hey, sister, got any water?”  
She turned pale as a ghost and dropped her weapon. She might have wanted to faint, but he watched in passive amusement as she scrambled for her revolver once again, hands shaking to reload the one empty chamber.  
Hancock knew this was a dream. The way she was dressed, the unsteadiness that her eyes held. It seemed all too wrong.  
“No more of this shit, you aren’t here, I’m imagining things…” He remarked.  
“Ghouls don’t speak!” She emphasized voice hoarse and wavering.  
She was pretty enough – she’d apparently picked up some old frazzled dress and opted for a top hat…Hancock could appreciate style. She seemed so jittery it made his radiated skin crawl.  
“Do you have any clothes you could give me? I’m just…here…for” His end tapered off as he had no valid way to explain how he could communicate. He reminded himself that dreams were odd that way. 

"I don't have anything...fuck it really is speaking-" Her hand shook as she tried once more to reload her old revolver.  
She dropped another bullet. He knelt before her, offered his open palm with round revealed.  
"I'm lost too darling. It's alright-"  
She shot him in the head.  


“What the flying fuck are you?”  
“Unbecoming language for a lady….” He retorted.  
He watched her shaking and frail hands rummage through her knapsack. She tossed to him a tricorn hat, a sash and some pants that seemed far too tight for any person (ghoul or otherwise) to wear.  
“I-I-I….” She lost her train of thought and again held her pistol up as if she intended to head shot him.  
“You need to leave.”  
‘Sister…I don’t even know where I am.”  
She laughed in an uncomfortably awkward manner. “When in doubt head back east…does anyone even exist anymore?”  
When Hancock awoke he had been a ghoul, and it was an odd 200 years later from the date he’d read and seen upon the girls face. He couldn’t explain the way time worked, but he knew she was the same energy when his soul survivor showed up in Goodneighbor. He’d known that feeling immediately.

\-------  



End file.
